Halloween. The one holiday in which women are given a huge pass to basically show up to a party completely naked. I feel like every year I see women who are trying to out-skank and out-offend the previous year…don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure I know of one person who is planning a “Sexy Kim Jong-un” costume. I, on the other hand, take pride in becoming the weirdest, ugliest and funniest person I can possibly be.
Let’s take this past year as an example. I decided, after much consideration and countless hours of research, to go through Halloween 2012 as Dooneese from SNL (played by Kristen Wiig). If you don’t know this character then…you must not like to laugh and therefore why are you reading this blog? Just kidding…but seriously. I was outfitted in a bald cap to make a huge forehead and glued tiny baby hands (that I amputated from a doll) onto a 40’s style dress. I didn’t break character at the party and continued to sing weird ass songs which turned off some potential gentlemen callers, but you would have to be the freakiest of guys to hit on me – think something out of TLC’s Strange Sex. Like, what if someone asked me out and then I had to wear tiny baby hands for the date? And then, I would be afraid to take them off and would continue to lie to him until one day he catches me, red full-size handed, and he leaves me. There’s nothing more depressing than getting dumped by a man who has a tiny baby hand fetish..besides actually dating a man with a tiny baby hand fetish.
I may not be getting laid on Halloween (or ever, who the hell am I kidding), but at least I’m not getting a weird infection from cheap latex cat suits purchased on Hollywood Blvd. The only thing I’m buying on Hollywood Blvd is a bacon wrapped hot dog…but I’ll leave that for another post.
You know, I felt like it would be hypocritical to not go out with a guy who is divorced, considering that my parents got divorced when I was seven. Granted, this particular douche bag didn’t actually disclose his marital status (FUCK YOU, OK CUPID) so I totally default to the fact that this particular situation was 100% not my fault. I met SSDbag downtown on a random Saturday night when, yes, something in my brain was telling me…”shit ain’t right, girl,” but I ignored this feeling. We went out, four times, and I liked him. He is 6’4, blonde, from New York state and just a super manly man…which I LOVE. Sorry, but you can’t help what you’re naturally attracted to. Fact. But yeah…speaking of facts…he turned out to be a GIGANTIC ASSHOLE. Long story short, we had four dates and then he went to Vegas for my 30th birthday weekend. Sure, he tried to get me to go, but when I declined, he then FORGOT about my 30th birthday and then didn’t call me for a week. What-the-fuck-ever, I totally forgot about you and your balding blonde head.
The kicker here is when he tried to re-connect, post-30th birthday, and said the reason he didn’t call/text me is cause he was in “the Vegas zone,” which is, apparently, when you’re just so stuck in your gambling high that you can’t even deal. “Well how much did you win?” I asked. His response? “I lost like $2,000.” WHAT A FUCKING LOSER. I don’t date losers, guys. If you forget my 30th birthday, you better have a GOOD FUCKING EXCUSE. E.G. You won some SERIOUS MONEY. Like baller status, ok? Douche!
Long story short, I was over him faster than John Mayer was over Taylor Swift. Good luck being alone forever (in a gross LA suburb, mind you).
I consider myself a D.I.Y/crafter of sorts, which usually entails reusing different things such as wine bottles. So many things can be made with just one bottle! For instance: sconce, table centerpiece, wall display, flower vase. All these things sound like perfect gifts for friends so I started keeping all of my used wine bottles to accomplish said crafts on the weekends. Has this ever really happened? No. Will it ever happen? Uncertain, but probably not…which I blame on my libra-ness. I decided to do the right thing and take all the bottles to the trash because to be honest, I’ll have more in no time.
This is when my neighbor stepped in and had an intervention with me. I don’t know if this has ever happened to you but rest assured it is uncomfortable when you try to plead your case that you aren’t an alcoholic. This is of course what happens when you gather 5 months worth of wine bottles and decide to throw them out ALL AT ONCE. Shit, I would think I was a drunk too if I saw me!
I’ve learned my lesson that I need to throw out my bottles in small stages so as not to draw attention to myself. What? Did you think I was going to say drink less wine?! NEVER!!!
Saying that you like country music in Los Angeles is like saying you like to piss in holy water at the Vatican. As soon as those two words are mentioned people start to form a whole new opinion about you. Things like: You lived on a farm, you’ve tipped a cow, you rode a tractor to school, your favorite beer is Natural Ice and you dated your cousin. None of these apply to me at all, or else I doubt I would be living in Los Angeles people (although I have drank Natty Ice numerous times and my Dad’s family farms).
What is it that is so offensive about this type of music? Is it so strange that I can listen to She & Him and also listen to Miranda Lambert? You know what IS offensive? The lack of country bars in this town! Where does one need to go in order to do a little line dancing ya’ll? Apparently an hour away. On the ride there, you and your friends will be talking about all the cowboys you will meet and dance with to some George Straight like it was fucking Hope Floats. But you know what the reality is? You will end up getting smashed off of Bud Light, sitting all night because only people who KNOW how to line dance are allowed on the floor, making out with someone missing a few teeth and then start crying at Denny’s about how hopeless your life is. Or at least that’s what I’m told happens…
This post is specifically to show that some people just do not think before they speak, or maybe they do and are just a bunch of bitches. Three years ago I was chillin’ with friends at the Red Lion in Silverlake, drinking some beers and eating some fish and chips. A girl walks up to our table and asks that question that everyone loves:
Hipster girl – “Do you know who you look like?”
Attention! This is a loaded question. You don’t want to be that asshole who answers this question, but you don’t want to have to fake a thank you when you have already heard their answer before. I played dumb.
Me – “Who?”
Hipster Girl – “Barbra Streisand!”
Now…I have been told I look like many people, but never in my life has that person been Barbra Streisand. Really? Barbra fucking Streisand? I couldn’t even get a YOUNG Barbra, not even a Barbra in Funny Girl? Nothing makes you feel better than being told you look like a 68 year old who has a huge nose which in turn gave me complex about my nose…one that I never had! Who the hell says that anyway? I don’t know, maybe it’s a hipster thing to tell people their doppelganger is someone they would least expect ever.
I have learned a few things from this experience. First, if this question arises be prepared for a retaliation doppelganger. Some good ones include Tim Curry, Liza Minneli, Aretha Franklin and Steve Buscemi to name a few. Second, I need to track this bitch down and give her all my therapist bills to pay…she caused this complex! Third, this needs to be included in my online dating profile. Just think of all the interesting men I would get to go on dates with?
By now I’m sure you have come to realize that I am basically the female version of BIG. Ever since I was young, my brother and I have always been obsessed with dinosaurs and have yet to grow out of it. It’s really hard to explain to someone at the office why you have glow-in-the-dark T-Rex’s in your cubicle, especially once they find out that you DON’T have any children. It gets a little awkward at that point.
I have to admit that 2 years ago my birthday theme at the bar was Jurassic Park. Now, you may be thinking “Wow, D you had a Jurassic Park themed party AT the bar IN LOS ANGELES?” Hell yes I did and everyone who came had an amazing time. My one friend even dressed up as a raptor for christ’s sake and the bartender played the theme song on his iPod. If a J.P. party doesn’t get you laid, I don’t know what will at this point. 2 weeks later I met a guy in town from NYC at the bar and we were talking about his upcoming birthday plans. I am NOT shitting you, he was having a Jurassic Park party. What. The. Eff. I met my soulmate and then I let him slip away into the night. No number, no nothing. I should have google stalked HIM and shown up to his party dressed as a sex-i-saurus so we could start our weird fetish life together! Maybe one day I will find the Ross to my Rachel.